Tattoos and Ridiculousness
by Kouwen
Summary: A strange tattooed parahuman during the Endbringer attack on Brockton Bay. Featuring Alexandria and a distinct lack of clothes. One shot. Inspired by "A Propensity For Wrath".
'I'm nude. Ah shit. I'm fucking nude,' this was all I could think as I looked down upon myself. Never mind the fact that I had just withstood a barrage of water so dense and forceful that it had _torn my suit off of my body_ – and then continued on to do the same with my skin, flesh, etc. (everything but my bones really)– and survived. I really wish I had been thinking, 'Hey! I guess they'll have to up my brute rating now!' But no. I could not help but fixate on, and internally panic about, the fact that my regeneration did not bring back my costume, and Leviathan had effectively de-clothed me for the immediate future. On the upside, I was very glad that I had tested that my tattoos grew back along with my skin, and worked even if that skin was no longer present (maybe it was an existential sort of thing?) – Almost as glad as I had been to find a tattoo artist that was _very_ discreet.

Well, at least I had nothing to be ashamed of. Quite literally; I had made sure of it. I pushed myself, groaning, to my feet. Over the downpour I could hear the distant booms and clangs of the ongoing fight with Leviathan. Glancing down at myself once more, I focused on moving _up_ , and with the large tattoo spread across my upper back, I rose toward the darkened sky. Without the powers imbued in my suit I wouldn't be much further help to the fight, but I wanted to see its end, and just as my powers had saved me before, they would again – if it came to that. I could already feel the charge in the tattoos spread all across my body once again approaching full; a satisfying sort of tingle that flickered before settling. I covered my face with my off hand on the approach, on the off chance that someone had the power of eidetic memory or some kind of super-recognition system – honestly wouldn't put it past someone like Armsmaster. Its jackasses like him that make everyone go "fucking tinkers".

I hovered, silent, above the battlefield. The pain, death and destruction were all too clear. This was thanks to a set of tattoos on my temples infused with _focus_ which granted me hawk-like vision. And also ensured that I almost always wore sunglasses. Alexandria and others stood up close, tanking the hits and trying desperately to keep up with the swift, sinuous form of the aquatic Endbringer. Legend and other longer range combatants were firing a barrage of lights, lasers, and projectiles, aided by the power chameleon Eidolon, who would occasionally flit into closer range as well, seemingly cautious even in his offense.

I could not help but notice that for all the heroes, villains, and rogues that had gathered, for all the combined forces that had come together to stand against the Endbringer and the many of those that had fallen – some to blades, or to a barrage like myself, or to the swiftly shifting shadow of the Endbringer, all fell to water – Leviathan didn't look so much as winded, let alone injured. It made me want to crack my neck.

I cracked my neck.

Time passed. The battle continued.

Suddenly, _he_ was there. Bright, sad, and – Hey, just as nude as me! And it was all over in a flash. Quite literally. Scion emitted a blast of light so bright that I was blinking and rubbing my eyes for nearly a minute, by which time Leviathan was well and truly gone. I'd come back in order to see the end of this battle, and I get blinded just as its happening. Figures.

Lost as I was in my self-pity, it took me a couple of seconds to notice that Alexandria was hovering just a few yards away. And I was naked. I was proudly flashing quite possibly the most powerful hero in the world.

I grimaced. The suit hadn't lasted because I didn't really want to know if my suit's durability could stand up to Leviathan, and since I wasn't sure, I put speed and strength before durability in the hopes that I could hurt him. Clearly, I hadn't. And my body itself had no durability tattoos of its own; I really needed to start in on the tattoos for protection and durability. I had prioritized regeneration for what I considered to be obvious reasons, and flight because, well, _human flight_ and the enhancements to my eyes really just made for safer flying. But today had demonstrated that I seriously needed to get some protection up and running.

In the time I was contemplating this, Alexandria had remained silent, so I went first, "Yes?" Ah eloquence, my oldest friend… so fickle.

"Why didn't you fight?"

"Ah." Blunt, but understandably so. There had been a considerable amount of effort and suffering down in the fight with Leviathan, and I had done nothing but watch. And if she had _seen_ that? As one of those on the front lines every time there was an Endbringer attack? Yeah, I can understand why she would be pissed. She'd kept it succinct, so I did too, "Ran out of charge. Nothing left to give."

This seemed to calm her. After all, pretty much everyone had seen me flayed down to the bone by possibly the largest of Leviathan's attacks – of those I had seen anyway. And many parahumans' powers worked on a "charge-up" system; such as Battery. Though it did seem I would need to take steps to disabuse everyone else of the notion of my death. Not everyone was as observant as the figurehead of the Protectorate and top tier flying brick – or had it been Eidolon that had seen me? He was hovering a couple hundred feet away and down… regardless. I would need to establish that I was no longer a pile of bones.

When I looked back to Alexandria, I realized that she was staring. Staring quite pointedly, in fact. Staring at the thing swaying between my legs. There was also a faint sense of disbelief. Oh yeah. _That_ was also something that I had enhanced with a tattoo set underneath the hair of my crotch – hair quickly regrown thanks to the _regeneration_ imbued ink that ran all over my body like a strangely linear circulatory system. Maybe I had gone a bit overboard with that one?

"Too much?" Her head whipped back up, but she seemed to have been struck speechless. "I did, didn't I? Shit. I mean, I was decent before, but when you read about shit like thirteen inches and whatnot, you get kind of nervous, and there's this girl… anyway. So what would be a good length?"

The sheer strangeness of what I was asking seemed to snap her out of her silence. "You can change it?"

"Uh, yeah. So were you thinking something along the lines of nine inches? I've heard that's a good one. On the upper edge without being painful – granted this is all hearsay, but… a little help?"

Deadpan. "You're that one, aren't you?" Ah, it seems that tales of my eccentricity have soared beyond Brockton Bay.

"Yes, so? Eight, nine, te-"

She cut me off. "I'm not dealing with this." Tiredly – what is the posture for tired flight? – she flew off with Eidolon in tow. Never did give me an answer. Oh well. I left in turn.

Still, it seems I would be taking some size off of the tattoo on my crotch. I had been enormously relieved to find that removing empowered ink was a possible – if painful – process after I had chosen to apply just a small amount of _strength_ to myself and found myself breaking doorknobs left and right. Which did and will mean a visit to my tattoo artist. That's great. I always enjoy those. And no, it's not because I'm a masochist. Struck by a sudden thought, I paused in my flight over the ruined city.

There were a good number of heroes fighting Leviathan, including Tinkers like Armsmaster. Any number of which could have had cameras. And even if I had covered what I could of my face, my nude body – and more importantly all of the tattoos covering it – would be plastered on some PHO forum. My tattoo artist was kind of fond of PHO and cape news, almost obsessed, really. My 'little friend' might end up shared worldwide. As well as all of my tattoos. Which my tattoo artist probably knew by heart, as often as I'd been visiting her. Well. At least I would find out if she liked the length. (Yeah, she's the girl I mentioned to Alexandria.) And if not, she could help me adjust it, test it, and test it some more... I continued to fantasize and fly towards home over the abandoned, flooded warzone that had once been a city on the bay.

Ah shit…

I _really_ need to find some boxers.


End file.
